


What Kind Are We?

by StarlingHawke (Bowm8935)



Series: Not Your Traditional Soulmate AU [1]
Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Background OT3 - Freeform, But not at all in the way you're used to, Custom MC, FYI, M/M, Soulmates, mc is genderfluid just fyi if that matters but they're just in the background, mcyooseven
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-10-12 15:38:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10494039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bowm8935/pseuds/StarlingHawke
Summary: Zen decides to pursue a friendship with Saeran that may have unexpected consequences.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm hella nervous to post this but also really excited. I've fallen into the hole for this ship hard as of late and this is the result of that. Enjoy~

When the pain started, it woke Zen from his sleep.

He'd worked a late shift the night before and wasn't needed at the theatre that day - his small role wasn't in the scenes being rehearsed - so he hadn't set an alarm and was planning to sleep as long as his tired mind wanted. Apparently his body had other plans.

It started on the upper portion of his arm, just a few inches below the shoulder; an intense poking feeling at first, like miniature bee stings but without the actual _bees._ It moved in a steady pattern, like a curving line or a swirl. The longer it went on, it moved down his arm and turned into a sensation more similar to that of being scratched on a sunburn, pinching in areas he swore had already been gone over by this mysterious invisible needle. It lasted for hours.

Zen tried everything to get rid of it. He took medicine; Tiaranol and Edvil. He put heat on it, he put ice on it. He stretched, he massaged the muscles. None of it helped. Finally, right before he had to go into work, the sharp pain stopped, leaving him with only a dull throbbing along the entirety of his upper arm. There was no way he could afford to miss a shift, so he made the decision to go to work and see how he felt in the morning. If it was still bothering him, he would go to the doctor; such a large amount of pain could not be indicative of anything good, and if he wanted to be able to continue to chase his dream of being in theatre, he needed to make sure he was in top shape.

As the night wore on, it became apparent the pain wasn’t going anywhere. Thankfully his work didn’t seem to make it worse, and as he bussed tables and took orders, he found himself slowly adjusting to it. It still worried him, but at least he knew he’d make it through the night. With tomorrow being another convenient day off, he could get checked out without interfering with anything. That in mind, he forged ahead and finished his shift, popping more Tiaranol before dragging himself to bed and passing out in exhaustion.

The next morning saw Zen riding his motorcycle to the doctor, which turned out to be a waste of time, in his humble opinion. The only thing to come out of it was the discovery of white, scar-like lines having appeared overnight on the same arm, twisting and turning to form a pattern. The doctor was mystified - not as though that was a new state for Zen to see a medical professional in, what with his normal healing time being a fraction of that of the average person’s - and suggested that he take some time off of work to see if it helped with the pain.

Of course Zen ignored that particular bit of advice; he didn’t have time to not be chasing after his dreams. And to chase after his dreams, he needed a job. To keep his job, he needed to go to work. So he continued, day in and out, assuming that eventually his body would heal and things would go back to normal.

He was partially right. Gradually the pain faded until finally there was none left. As the pain lessened, the scars became more clear and well-defined. This concerned Zen; he’d never had a scar in his life, his body healed too quickly and efficiently to leave one. The more prominent it became, the more worried he was. Would it affect his ability to get roles? Would it marr his body, make him ugly and undesirable? Zen stressed over it, buying all sorts of products claiming to “Reduce or Heal Scars!” and eventually trying to cover it up with makeup. A few years passed of unsuccessful attempts to “fix” himself before he realized people still complimented him, sometimes even mentioning the mystery scar in specific. The first time he went to an audition without covering it up was an eye-opener when all the director did was look at it, raise an eyebrow and shrug.

Eventually it became a trademark of his, something he felt distinguished him from the crowd. And as his career advanced, directors never seemed to mind, so eventually it just became a part of who he was and fell out of his mind.

  
  
  


**-Present {Five Years Later}-**

 

Zen leans back against the tree he’s standing by, glass of champagne in his hand as he watches the happy couple ‘dance’ around the platform Jumin had rented for the occasion. By dancing Zen means that Saeyoung is doing some sort of modified version of the chicken dance while Andy circles around him moving their arms like they’re swimming. It’s weird, but no one really pays them any attention; the small guest list is made up of people who are used to their odd ways. Of course the children are there too, and Zen smiles seeing Tai holding Li’s hands and twirling her around as she giggles hysterically, her little blue dress swishing around her legs.

Letting his eyes wander, Zen’s gaze passes over the tables set out with their soft, white tablecloths and centerpieces made to look like shooting stars; the arch set up at the front and decorated with twinkling lights where only hours ago wedding vows had been said; the strings of small star-shaped lights emitting their off-white shine draping from one tree to another. The sky above is clear, not a single cloud in sight, offering a perfect view of the night sky. The moon is ¾ full and casts an almost ethereal glow on the setup. He has to admit that he’s impressed with how it turned out; when Zen had first heard the theme was going to be ‘space,’ he’d expected some sort of gaudy rocketship that was going to take them to the space station or something of the like. But no, this is very peaceful, simple yet sophisticated.

He takes a sip of his drink, his eyes following the string of the nearest set of stars from his tree to one across the clearing, unsurprised to see Saeran standing off on his own there. It’s almost a year to the day since he was rescued, and from what Zen understands, things are still fairly rocky between him and Saeyoung. Rocky enough that he had turned down being in the wedding in favor of just being a guest. Zen takes another drink while considering, and then makes his way to stand a few feet away, leaving enough room between them to hopefully not crowd the RFA’s newest, albeit a bit reluctant, member.

“How’s your evening been, Saeran?” he asks, keeping his eyes to the front but angling himself to be able to catch some of the man’s reactions in his peripheral vision. A good choice, it seems, when Saeran visibly starts and looks at him, his body language portraying both surprise and confusion. Zen chuckles. “Didn’t see me join you? I’m surprised, normally my beauty betrays my presence.”

Saeran stays quiet for a moment before answering. “Sorry. I was thinking about something.” Zen turns to look at him fully this time and notes that he has both hands in his pockets and he’s kicking at the ground with a foot. Sometimes it’s easy to forget that this is the same man who had tried to take down the RFA, that when under the influence of Mint Eye he’d been a dangerous and unstable enemy. Now he seems more quiet and timid, awkward at times. Occasionally it feels like he reacts to things more like a child would. Zen doesn’t know the intimate details of Saeran’s childhood or his time with the cult, but he knows enough to understand why this is the case. He’s had some nasty stuff happen to him in his short life and it’s going to take time for him to recover and learn to handle things appropriately.

“It’s not a problem,” Zen replies calmly, giving him a lazy smile before turning back to the group. “They sure have an interesting way of dancing.” He nods at the couple on the dance floor who have now switched to doing some sort of movement reminiscent of a pair of awkward teenagers. When Saeran lets out a loud snort next to him, Zen turns raised eyebrows on him in surprise, the sides of his mouth quirking up slightly. “Ah. I see you agree,” he chuckles, bringing his cup to his lips and taking a sip.

“Interesting is an understatement.” Saeran shakes his head, eyebrows furrowed as he watches his brother sway from side-to-side with his limbs locked in place while Andy mimes next to him. “Fucking weird as shit is a better description.”

After an initial moment of shock, Zen bursts out in laughter. “You _do_ have a sense of humor,” he chuckles, eyes sparkling as he looks at Saeran. “Saeyoung always made it sound like all you do is sulk.” Well, sulk and grump at his brother, but to be completely honest, Zen isn’t sure that he’d be able to live full-time with Saeyoung and _not_ be grumpy himself. Yeah, they were friends but the dude could get pretty annoying at times; especially when he’s being egged on.

Shrugging, Saeran glances at Zen a moment before training his eyes on the ground. “What can I say, humor runs in the family,” he deadpans, pulling a hand out of his pocket and turning to the tree behind him. Tucked away carefully on a branch above them is a bottle of water, and Saeran tugs it out, uncapping it and taking a swig.

Zen turns back to the dance floor to see that a few of the others have joined in, finally; Yoosung is dancing with a girl he brought from school, though less enthusiastically than Zen thought he would, since he’s been bragging about _finally_ getting a girlfriend; Jaehee has apparently had one too many glasses of champagne and is cozying up to one of the female guests; Jumin’s the only one still sitting, messing around on his phone while the rest of the guests are milling about, talking or dancing. Zen’s not surprised, putting a hand to his hip as he lets out an annoyed hum. That guy never does anything normal people do, and apparently dancing at a wedding is no exception.

“I’m surprised you’re not out there.” Looking over, Zen catches Saeran’s eye as he motions toward the dance floor. “Isn’t that something you like? Dancing?” He’s mildly surprised at the eye contact, especially as Saeran continues to hold it; the few times he’s been around him, Saeran’s never looked someone in the eye for this long before.

Zen laughs. “Hmm. Maybe, but there isn’t anyone I feel like dancing _with_ right now,” he replies, shaking his head. “Plus, the director has been working us into the ground at rehearsals recently, so it’s nice to just take a break from it.” Normally that wouldn’t stop him from taking part in wedding dances, but he honestly just isn’t feeling it tonight. The draw he normally has to participate in such activities is absent, and instead he’s hungering for conversation. All of his friends are busy, and he admittedly has been curious about Saeran for quite a while now, so hopefully the younger Choi twin won’t turn him away.

Saeran breaks eye contact and takes another drink of his water, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “No one to dance with…” he mumbles softly, the look on his face one of mild confusion. The light from the twinkling stars reflect off of his green eyes prettily, and the longer Zen looks the more he realizes just how much that one difference separates him from his brother. Saeran’s actually rather _cute_ , and when Zen catches that thought making its way through his mind he shuts it down; he’s had too much to drink tonight.

Those green eyes turn back to him, a curiousness rising up within them as Saeran narrows his eyes at Zen. “Is that why you came to talk to me? Because… you need someone to dance with?” He tilts his head slightly at the end of the question, attention completely focused on Zen.

Zen is in the middle of taking another sip of his champagne when Saeran asks and he nearly spits the liquid out in shock, only managing to swallow it because of his ability to regain control over his body quickly - thank god for actor’s reflexes. “What!? No, I’m not _gay!”_ he sputters indignantly, waving a hand in front of him quickly in denial.

Keeping his head tilted, Saeran just stares at him a little while longer, eyes slowly looking over Zen’s face before he shrugs and caps his water bottle. “Oh. Well I _am_ ,” he responds sharply, raising an eyebrow as though daring Zen to say something else. When he remains silent, Saeran shakes his head and turns, walking toward the tables.

Blinking in surprise, Zen watches him go, mentally turning over the two new things he’d learned about Saeran today: he’s funny in a dry sort of way, and that he’s apparently gay. Count him intrigued; he wants to learn more, so much more about Saeran.

He finishes off his champagne with a smile, already working on ways he can win Saeran’s friendship.

  
  
  


 

 

“You want to be friends with _him?”_ Saeyoung jokes, raising his eyebrows and dramatically pointing over at his brother. Saeran’s sitting on the couch, legs crossed with a large sketchpad lying across them, diligently working away at something Zen can’t see. His white hair is falling forward, the pink tips occasionally dropping in front of his eyes, causing Saeran to take his pencil and shove them back. It’s cute. Zen catches himself smiling at him and turns back to Saeyoung, nodding. “Why?” Saeyoung’s dropped the joking tone and is now looking at Zen suspiciously, eyebrows furrowed. “What is in it for you?”

Zen flinches at the bluntness of the question. “What’s in it for me? A new friend,” he says honestly, crossing his arms over his chest and meeting Saeyoung’s gaze without hesitation. “I spoke with him a bit at the wedding, and he seems… funny. Nice. I’d like to see what else there is.” He doesn’t understand why Saeyoung seems so skeptical of his motives - why is it so hard to believe he just wants to be friends with his brother? As far as Zen knows, Saeran doesn’t have any of those yet, though whether that’s from lack of options or by his own choice, he doesn’t know. He hopes to find out.

Saeyoung observes him a moment longer before shrugging. “Alright. Good luck, he doesn’t typically let new people into his life.” He places a hand on Zen’s shoulder, giving him a strangely unguarded smile. Zen feels slightly uneasy from this uncommon show of emotion but smiles back nonetheless, curious to see where this is going. “He needs a friend, though; I hope you can manage it.” Then he drops his hand and turns, disappearing in the direction of his workshop.

 _That was weird,_ Zen thinks before he looks back at the couch. Saeran hasn’t moved at all, still intently focused on the paper in front of him. Zen grabs two bottles of water out of the fridge before making his way over, sitting down carefully so as not to disturb Saeran. This close he sees that Saeran has his tongue just barely peeking out between his lips and that his eyes are flitting across the paper at an incredibly high speed. He’s so focused. Zen wants to catch a glimpse of what he’s drawing but something about how closed off Saeran’s body language is makes him feel like he’d be intruding upon a private moment, so he relaxes against the back of the couch, waiting patiently for Saeran to take a break. The last thing Zen wants to do is surprise him like he did at the wedding and end up responsible for ruining all of his hard work.

After a few minutes he pulls out his phone, tapping on the messenger app just to see if anyone is logged in. Jumin… he’ll pass. Zen closes it as quickly as he opened it, not wanting to give Jumin the chance to say anything to him and ruin his good mood. A quick glance to his side shows Saeran is still hard at work, so Zen opens tripter and starts scrolling through his timeline. Some of his old castmates were apparently at a party last night, showing off several pictures of drunken shenanigans, a few that make him cringe internally. Some things just shouldn’t go on the internet. Moving on, he sees Jaehee posting her normal coffee art and her excitement over his upcoming show, to which he smiles and leaves a quick comment of “thanks for your support, Jaehee ;)” as well as liking her pictures. Yoosung is just complaining about school, as usual, and Andy’s been on a roll of sharing pictures from the wedding and of the kids - not that Zen minds either of those. The pictures he’d been in had been particularly dashing, of course, because how could they not be with him in them?

What catches his eye, though, are the family pictures. Putting Saeran in a picture with Saeyoung and Andy only highlighted how uncomfortable he was around them. It was obvious he was trying to relax and take a good picture, but Zen knows a lot about posture and how to portray emotions that aren’t meant to be obvious. Saeran’s shoulders are stiff and his smile looks more like a grimace. The distance between him and Saeyoung seems to slowly increase in each picture, like he’s trying to run away. Zen frowns, thinking; how is it, that after a year, Saeyoung still hasn’t gained back any of Saeran’s trust? Was the damage _that_ deep, that intensive? He thinks about his own brother and how betrayed he’d felt, how betrayed he _still_ feels. Yet Zen’s reached out to him, to his parents, multiple times in the way of sending them tickets to his shows, but they never come. His heart sinks at the thought; maybe they never will come, maybe they’re _relieved_ that he’s no longer in their life. Maybe…

“Are you just gonna sit there all day without saying anything?” Saeran’s voice jolts Zen out of his mind and he turns, surprised to see Saeran still busy sketching away. He wonders if at some point Saeran had looked over while he was distracted or if he’d been aware of his presence this entire time.

“Sorry, I didn’t want to interrupt you,” Zen says, smiling at him. “I was just wondering if you wanted any company.”

“Interesting. I didn't expect you to come back.” Saeran’s eyes narrow but don’t move from his lap, and Zen notices his tongue is no longer sticking out at all. “I’m used to being alone. What makes you think I wanted company?” His voice is calm yet curious, as though Zen is an enigma but not a danger to him.

Zen pauses before answering, looking at Saeran closely. This is a man who’s comfortable where he is, a man not worried about impressing anyone. There’s no tenseness in him as he leans over his sketchpad and no anger or irritation on his face. That’s a relief, at least. “Let me try again,” he says slowly, carefully. “I was wondering if you _needed_ company.”

There’s a slight intake of air from Saeran as he freezes, blinking down at his drawing before tilting his head to look over at Zen, face unreadable. “You think I need friends,” he says flatly, but the way his eyes feel like they pierce into his soul makes Zen suppress a shudder. That’s weird, he’s never had that feeling before. Struck dumb from the intensity in that gaze, Zen merely nods. For a fraction of a moment, Saeran’s lips quirk up; the sight sends a bolt of happiness shooting through Zen. “And you want to be my friend,” Saeran continues, pointing the eraser of his pencil at him as if to specify which “you” he’s talking about.

Zen nods again, managing to force out a “if you’d be okay with that.” This is really weird, he’s off his game today. Never before has anyone affected him so strongly that he’s been unable to think of a witty retort or a flirty answer off the top of his head, and he doesn’t quite know how to react to it.

Seeming to sense his struggle, Saeran releases him from his stare and lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “I’ve never had a friend before,” he says contemplatively, tapping his pencil against his chin a moment. “What do friends… do?”

If it was possible to die of shock, Zen would have perished in this moment. “You’ve… never had a friend?” he repeats, one hand over his heart to try to dull the ache that arose at those words. Saeran’s mouth twitches and he turns back to his paper but not resuming sketching. “I-I… sorry, I wasn’t expecting that,” Zen quickly backtracks, hoping he hasn’t already messed things up. He really needs to get his head on straight.

 _Deep, calming breath. Don’t let your mind get overwhelmed. It’s just Saeran, you can do this._ Closing his eyes, he trains his focus inward for a few moments, slowing his rapidly beating heart back to normal and clearing his thoughts. When he feels he’s in a better place, he lets out a long breath and turns to Saeran.

“Friends can do many things, depending what you’re looking for.” Zen smirks, winking when he sees Saeran glance at him. “Typically they hang out and do things they both enjoy, go places together for fun, talk about their lives. Keep each other company, offer a helping hand if needed. This is all pretty subjective to what type of relationship they want, since some people are very close while others are more like acquaintances. I can be whatever you want me to be among these things.”

Saeran swings green eyes back over to him, a smirk on his face this time. “Oh? You can be _whatever_ I want you to be?” The emphasis he puts on the word almost makes it sound lewd, a surprising talent considering it has nothing inherently to do with sexual things. Zen feels his face heat up slightly and he gives an awkward chuckle, tugging slightly on his ponytail. Oh, Saeran is full of surprises. Despite his current embarrassment, Zen thinks that if he can make it past his walls, they’ll be pretty good friends and have a lot of fun together. He’ll just have to… adjust to Saeran’s particular brand of humor.

Laughing, Saeran shakes his head and puts his pencil to the paper once more, a smile lingering on his face. It’s a good look on him, Zen notes, a smile overtaking his own lips at the sight. “So. Things we both like. I like clouds, drawing and ice cream. Do you like any of those?”

Wow. Zen really wasn’t expecting him to be so upfront, but there it is. Clouds, drawing and ice cream. “Well, I don’t _specifically_ like clouds,” he starts, tapping a finger to his chin in thought. “But I do like the sky. There’s a little clearing up in the mountains that I go to when I’m upset that has the most amazing view; maybe I’ll have to take you there sometime.” In all honesty it’s been quite a while since Zen’s gone up there. He’s been too busy with rehearsals and preparing for the wedding, but he’s down to just rehearsals now. It’s such a beautiful place, so serene and hidden away. He’d love to share it with Saeran some day.

“Drawing, hmm… I like art, in a sense. I don’t draw myself, but I don’t mind looking at it. My artistic style is on the stage.” Zen dramatically puts a hand in front of him, the other clutched to his chest, a heartbroken look on his face. Saeran snorts and Zen drops his arms, smiling over at him charmingly. “And in just being me, of course. I’m a piece of art to look at, as chiseled as a sculpture~”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re attractive, what of it,” Saeran says, not bothering to look over at him. “Anyone who can _see_ knows that much.”

Zen feels pride swell up within him. It’s true that he never tires of hearing how beautiful he is, but for some reason it means a lot more coming from Saeran, even in that mildly sarcastic voice. “At least you acknowledge it,” Zen jokes, choosing not to dwell on that particular thought too much. “Ahh, the pain of being living art, everyone always wants to touch me.” He keeps his tone light even though there’s far more to that statement than the face value; he’s really just enjoying the conversation and doesn’t want to spoil it with his problems.

That one earns him a small chuckle, and Zen feels a burst of pride at the accomplishment. This seems to be going well. He pushes forward. “As far as ice cream goes, I don’t _dislike_ it, but I don’t really make an effort to get any.” Zen’s far more likely to stock up on things that are quick and easy to grab, like protein bars. Time isn’t something he has a lot of during the days he’s rehearsing, and when he’s done he’s not usually thinking of what he can have for dessert. The trek home from the theatre is generally filled with thoughts of taking a much needed warm shower, doing the necessary things to make sure his skin stays clear and healthy, how much he should probably stop smoking and sleeping.

“Is that enough in common to qualify us as friends?” Searan asks, and for a moment Zen’s preparing a witty retort before he glances over to see that Saeran’s not joking; he’s dead serious with the question. _My god,_ Zen thinks, keeping his face a friendly neutral while he’s horrified inside. _He honestly has no idea, does he?_

Composing himself, Zen shrugs. “That’s up to you,” he says, carefully putting the power of their potential relationship in Saeran’s hands. As much as he wants to get to know the man, he also doesn’t want to push too hard - like Saeyoung - and end up shutting the door that’s open just enough for him to peek through. “I’m game if you are.”

The pencil starts tapping against the paper again, a little faster this time as Saeran stares at the ceiling, obviously thinking hard about this. Even though he appears visibly relaxed, Zen is on the edge of his seat waiting for the answer, hoping for the green light. But even if Saeran agrees, Zen knows he needs to still reign himself in because he can get too passionate and intense about the things he loves, and he needs to give Saeran time to adjust to having a friend in general before he unleashes the full extent of his admittedly amazing personality on him.

Suddenly the pencil drops onto the paper and Saeran starts rustling around on the other side of the couch, grumbling and digging for something Zen can’t see. Zen sits a little straighter in an effort to see but before he can, Saeran’s already turning back to him, his phone in hand. “Friends… exchange phone numbers, right?” Voice cautious, Saeran’s giving him a weird look that reads both wary and excited, and in his attempt to translate what it means Zen almost misses the implications of the question.

His eyebrows raise and he grins brightly, pulling out his own phone from his jacket pocket. “Yes, typically friends like to keep in contact with each other,” he jokes, holding out his phone for Saeran to take. When Saeran looks at it in confusion, Zen prompts, “put your number in it.” Eyes widening, Saeren voices “oh!” as he takes the white phone, staring at it a moment before handing his off to Zen. The room falls silent except for the tapping of fingers against screens as they both program themselves in each others’ phones, Zen’s heart beating fast with excitement when he hands Saeran’s back to him.

“Well, this has been… fun,” Saeran starts, shutting his book and standing, eyes trained just over Zen’s head. “But I have an appointment I need to get to, so… um…” He trails off, obviously unsure of what to say next.

“Yeah! No problem, I’ll head out then. Text me if you need anything, okay?” Zen jumps in, rising to his feet and tucking his phone back away. Saeran nods and waves in a jerky motion before disappearing down the hallway in what Zen assumes is the direction of his room. Hiding a smile behind his hand, Zen stands still for a moment, just processing the outcome of their interaction.

Saeran agreed to being friends. Granted, this doesn’t guarantee their friendship will be a success, but it’s a start, and Zen feels good about it. Something tells him this is a step in the right direction for both of them, and that makes him quite happy.

A sound comes from the shop and Zen drops his hand, turning toward the exit, planning to make his escape before Saeyoung can come interrogate him.

  
  
  
  


 

A few weeks later Zen’s out walking while on break from rehearsal when he notices how beautiful the sky looks. It’s one of the picture perfect scenes one expects to see in books or on the background of a computer; a soft blue color with just the right number of clouds floating lazily overhead. For a moment he stops and just admires it, wondering if Saeran’s been outside to see it. Inspiration strikes and he pulls out his phone, turning around and angling it just right to catch both his face and the cloud behind him, pointing at it and giving the camera a half-smile. He snaps the picture, looks at it critically for any flaws that would dictate him needing to take a different one, and then sends it along with a text.

 

> _[Zen] 12:14 - Saw this cloud and thought of you._
> 
> _[Zen] 12:14 - It kinda looks like a frog lolol_

He slips his phone back into his pocket and continues his trek to the restaurant he’s planning to eat at, figuring he won’t get a response any time soon. They haven’t texted much since exchanging phone numbers, but the little they have has taught him that either Saeran’s terrible at checking his phone or he’s terrible at responding to texts. Either way, Zen’s caught off guard when his phone buzzes in his pocket only a few steps later.

 

> _[Saeran] 12:16 - So you’re saying I remind you of a frog?_

Zen blinks. Is he… being serious? Is he joking? It’s hard to tell over text, and he knows Saeran’s sense of humor is on the dry side, so it can be difficult to interpret in person at times. His footsteps pause as he rereads the message, and then reads it again, as though he’s hoping to find some hidden subtext that says “haha, I’m joking!” that he missed the first time. He’s still puzzling over it when the next one comes in.

 

> _[Saeran] 12:18 - That was a joke, in case that wasn’t clear._
> 
> _[Saeran] 12:18 - Also, you should get your eyes checked. That’s obviously a cat._

A...cat? Zen squints back up the cloud stupidly before realizing it’s changed in shape since he took the picture. Scrolling back up in the text, he selects the image and then zooms in on the cloud, tracing the outline with his eyes. Maybe… maybe he can see it, if that tiny sliver of blue at the frog’s butt makes part of it count as a tail.

 

> _[Zen] 12:20 - Nah, still a frog, dude lolol_
> 
> _[Saeran] 12:21 - If you’re calling that a frog, then I fear to know what you’d call this_
> 
> _[Saeran] 12:21 - Img attach_

As soon as the image loads, Zen bursts out laughing. Saeran had sent him a damn _inkblot._ What in the world… this guy could be so weird at times.

 

> _[Zen] 12:23 - omg lol why are you sending me an inkblot?_
> 
> _[Saeran] 12:24 - Just tell me what you see._
> 
> _[Zen] 12:24 - A butterfly._
> 
> _[Saeran] 12:25 - Yeah, get your eyes checked. That’s obviously a bat._

Shaking his head and chuckling, Zen enters the restaurant, stepping into line to order. His mouth twitches as he types his response.

 

> _[Zen] 12:27 - My eyes are perfect, just like the rest of me~_
> 
> _[Zen] 12:27 - I’m glad you care, though ;)_
> 
> _[Saeran] 12:28 - Piss off, nerd._

He has to slap a hand over his mouth to stifle his chuckle; ‘nerd’ has become a nickname for him from Saeran. It seems the guy’s only capable of using would-be insults as a form of a term of endearment (which maybe means he cares for his ‘idiot’ brother more than he lets on), but Zen finds it more amusing than anything else. Especially since Saeran chose ‘nerd’ for him, someone who dropped out of school. Zen has to laugh every time. He waits until after he places his order and sits down to eat it to respond, spending the rest of his lunch break exchanging friendly banter with Saeran.

Sending him a picture of a cloud along with a designation of what it looks like on his break becomes a daily ritual for Zen, one he looks forward to without fail.

  
  
  
  


 

“I can’t believe I failed my last test!”

Raising his eyebrows, Zen exchanges a look with Saeran before turning his disbelieving gaze upon Yoosung. The blond has a look of genuine confusion on his face as he eats the pizza Saeyoung had ordered for all of them, as though the reason for his failing is truly beyond his grasp. Zen wonders how much of that is an act, because he _knows_ Yoosung is smart. Yoosung is _damn_ intelligent, but he lacks the motivation to use his intelligence for something more than playing stupid video games. It’s disappointing, and Zen is well-aware that he is not alone in this belief. The entirety of the RFA wishes Yoosung would focus and each of them try to prod him to make school a priority in their own way, but none of it is effective.

Sometimes Zen wonders if Yoosung is playing dumb and using his cuteness to sell it.

Yoosung pokes at the pizza sitting on his plate, a piece of shrimp falling off on one side. “I’m not sure I’m going to pass this semester at this rate,” he whines, purple eyes big and round, reminding Zen of a puppy. “They might not let me return to school if I fail…”

“Yoosung, have you tried studying recently?” Zen asks, taking a bite of his own slice of pizza. It’s a type he’s never tried before, but both Yoosung and Saeyoung had insisted it was their favorite, so here he is. He’s not a huge fan of shrimp, so he’s been picking most of it off and setting it to the side of his plate.

Yoosung’s gaze flickers over to him and there it is, that innocent look that tells Zen the answer is ‘no’ before his friend even opens his mouth. “Well, I’ve been trying, but… I keep getting distracted.”

“By the siren’s call of LOLOL, I bet,” Saeyoung chimes in, dropping into his chair beside Saeran with a new can of PhD Pepper. “Ah ah ah, don’t look at me like that, Yoosungie~ I know your ways, you know.” He pops the tab and takes a long swig of it, letting out a satisfied puff of air when finished.

“Why do you guys always team up against me,” Yoosung pouts, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms over his chest. “It isn’t fair.” A few blonde bangs flare forward to cover part of his eyes when he dips his face down slightly, staring at the table sullenly.

Zen chuckles, reaching over to ruffle his friend’s hair affectionately. “You know we just want what’s best for you,” he assures, laughing more when Yoosung bats his hand away. “And that currently is improving your scores in school. You really should take it more seriously, you know.” Zen doesn’t like to push to subject as much as he used to, but it does still rankle him at times. Yoosung is his friend and he wants to see him succeed and be happy.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Yoosung grumbles, reaching forward to take a drink of his chocolate milk. It falls quiet for a moment, the only sound that of Saeyoung noisily taking a bite, and for a second Zen’s mind begins to wander to the performance he has coming up next weekend. It isn’t his favorite role - not even in the top 10 that he’s ever played, honestly - and he’s happy to be almost done with it. As far as he knows, the agency hasn’t picked up any promising leads for immediately thereafter, which is both concerning and a bit relieving. With how hard he’s been driven into the ground, it’ll be nice to have some time off - he’ll just have to ration his money carefully, which is nothing new. But he can’t afford to hit a dry spot, either; he’s still recovering from the lull that came after the Echo Girl fiasco. It’s frustrating how long it can take to restore savings once one has to dig into it…

Yoosung’s voice pulls him back to the present. “So… what do you guys think about soulmates?” There’s a choking sound across the table and Zen looks to see Saeran pounding his chest, face turning red as Saeyoung places a hand on his shoulder, looking at him in concern. Furrowing his brows and storing away that reaction for a later time, Zen turns to Yoosung curiously.

“Soulmates? You mean the belief that there’s someone out there meant just for you?” Zen’s heard of them, of course, who hasn’t? Generally something people refer to when talking about their ‘one true love’ or used as plot devices, the concept of soulmates, though romantic, is something Zen wrote off as utter nonsense years ago. In a world of billions and billions of people, how could there be only _one_ person for you? That makes no sense; how would you be expected to find such a person? Especially in the days before technology.

“Mmhmm.” Yoosung nods enthusiastically, tucking a portion of his hair behind his ear. A large, dreamy grin has overtaken his face as he glances around the table at all of them, his eyes sparkling. “Except, not the fictional type, but, you know, _real.”_

Now it’s Zen’s turn to choke on the sip of water he’d just taken. Swallowing down what he can, he coughs rather violently, hand covering his mouth and eyes watering until he feels he can breathe. He so desperately wants to clarify what Yoosung’s saying, but Saeyoung beats him to the punch while he’s still clearing his throat.

“Real,” he says in that melodic baritone he has. “You’re telling me that you think the idea of soulmates is real, Yoosung?” When Yoosung nods again, Saeyoung groans and leans back in his chair, fingers reaching up to massage the bridge of his nose. Those obnoxious brown-and-yellow rimmed glasses of his are forced up out of the way and jiggle with every movement he makes until he finally drops his hand and shakes his head. “Dude, I know you’re gullible but I think this might take the cake, even against every prank I’ve ever played on you.”

“I doubt that,” mutters Saeran before taking a drink of his own water. Zen’s eyebrows shoot up and he has to suppress a grin at the offended look that sentence drags from Saeyoung.

“Guys…” The tone of Yoosung’s voice has taken on a whining quality now. Leaning over the table with his fingers tapping the wooden surface in unison, the blond is emanating excitement despite his obvious annoyance. “I’m serious. When she broke up with me, Hana said it was because we weren’t soulmates. I was confused at first, but she directed me to a portion of the library on history that I’ve never looked at before because,” he blows a puff of air up toward his bangs, moving some of them slightly, “well, history is _boring_ but guess what? It’s all true! Soulmates are _real,_ a real part of our world!” The sound of palms hitting the table causes everyone to jump and Yoosung’s grin widens as he stands, looking at each of them in turn with glee. _“They’re real.”_

The silence is deafening after his statement, Zen staring up at him in shock. Part of him wonders if this is it, if Yoosung has finally cracked under the weight of all the expectations laid upon him, but another part of him wants to believe him. It’s a very _romantic_ notion, and Zen’s nothing if not a sucker for romance. To find that one person he’s meant to be with, his true other half? How thrilling of a chase that must be, how fulfilling when he finally holds her in his arms, staring into her eyes and seeing everything he’s ever needed and wanted reflected back at him?

“He’s right.”

Zen’s head snaps to look at Saeran, eyes widening at what he sees. Saeran has his elbows on the table, his hands cradling his pale face. If Zen didn’t know any better, he’d think that Saeran had seen something like a ghost or is on the verge or an anxiety attack. Which… could honestly still be a possibility, considering what he just said.

“Come again?” Zen says slowly, feeling like his breath is sucked out of his body when those green eyes roll up to look at him. The weight of emotion swirling in their depths is heavy, heavier than one person should have to bear. Saeran looks like he should be absolutely _drowning_ under the melancholy descending upon his body. Zen's heart twists painfully and he wants to help, to heal, to take some of the burden from him even though he doesn't know how.

Saeran shrugs indifferently, gaze dropping to the table. “Yoosung's right. Soulmates exist. We've just forgotten.”

Yoosung squeals with what Zen assumes is happiness, but neither he nor Saeyoung share his apparent joy over Saeran's confirmation. “Are you feeling well?” Saeyoung asks, reaching to place the back of his hand against Saeran's forehead. It's promptly batted away, accompanied by a sullen ‘fuck off,’ but his frown only increases. “What on earth would make you say that?”

“Yeah!” Yoosung chips in, oblivious in his excitement. “How'd you find out? And why didn't you tell us?”

“I didn't tell anyone because it doesn't matter. They're real, sure, but it's damn near impossible to figure them out. Or did you not read far enough to see that tidbit?” Saeran's voice is a mix between hostile and weary, and Zen flinches when he sees Yoosung's face drop. The kid had so much hope… “Even though it's not made-up bullshit, it's still not like in those stories you read. You don't get a name written on your wrist, and you don't just _know_. It's complicated and everyone is different. Some people have marks; others share emotions or, in less fortunate cases, injuries or scars.” Zen's hand flies up to his shoulder, his mind racing as Saeran continues, apparently becoming more worked up as he talks. “There’ve been documented cases of being suddenly being able to see color upon gazing into their soulmate’s eyes, or even being able to hear for the first time in their life. Some claim to see the other’s future or past, others say they can communicate telepathically. Shared dreams, visions, birthmarks, ‘red string of destiny’-” and the last is said with a sarcastic tone while Saeran pulls out exaggerated air quotes, “if you can think it, someone probably says they've experienced it. And yet here we are, in this day and age where no one believes them to be real and those who do will still probably never find theirs. That's not even to mention the other complications.” Saeran slumps back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest with a scowl on his face.

Zen’s stunned. It feels like the world just turned upside down on him, his brain having problems processing this new information and what that possibly means about the scar on his shoulder. If it were anyone other than Saeran saying this - and especially since Saeran seems to have quite a bit of bitterness behind his tone as he speaks - he would shake it off as a joke, a prank or the pathetic attempt of a lonely mind to give itself hope. But he can’t do that. Which means he’s going to need to look into it, verify that it’s true himself, and then go from there.

Not that he has any idea how to do any of that.

The chair beside him groans when Yoosung drops back into it. Zen doesn’t bother looking back over at him - he’s too busy chewing over things in his mind - but his eyes flick back up to Saeran when he hears the soft voice ask, “wh-what other complications you mean?”

Saeran drops his head, exhaling sharply. “Of course you’d ask, I should’ve known.” Tapping his finger against his arm, he takes a deep breath before looking back up, not holding anyone’s gaze for more than a few seconds. “What other complications. The ones they never talk about in the romanticized stories, of course. Like how a person always has at least one soulmate, but most likely there are more. Because not every soulmate has to be romantic; there are platonic ones out there too. There’s poly soulmates, situations where one person has two soulmates but the partners only have the one; there’s situations of groups. Sometimes it’s your best friend who’s your platonic soulmate, or it could even be a family member. Sometimes there’s age issues; a baby is born whose soulmate is their parent’s age or older. Is it fair, no, but it’s happened in the past. Of course there’s a very likely chance a person’s soulmate is on the other side of the world, but sometimes they may be as close as the end of the block. It’s _difficult._ And since there’s no set standard, there’s no way to easily track the process.” No longer appearing angry, Saeran just slumps down further, weary and hopelessness passing over his face. “So yeah, they exist. But it’s not worth it for most people to get their hopes up.” The finger keeps tapping on his arm, speeding up as he directly locks his eyes with Yoosung. “Of course, you’re the exception to that. Because it’s you, and life seems to like to give you everything you want.”

Zen snaps around to stare wide-eyed at an equally wide-eyed Yoosung. “M-me?” Yoosung stutters, finger pointing at his own chest in an obvious need to verify Saeran is indeed talking about him.

Rolling his eyes, Saeran leans forward, placing his forearms on the table, never breaking eye contact. “Yes, you. The blond with the freckles in the shape of a four-leaf clover at the base of your neck.”

Yoosung’s hand flies to up the nape of his neck, eyes widening even more against all logic. A small noise of surprise is emitted from Saeyoung and Zen glances over at him to see his jaw hanging open, pure disbelief plastered on his face. That’s an interesting reaction from him. Zen doesn’t get the connection… until Saeran continues speaking.

“You probably wonder how I noticed. Well, when I was a kid, I desperately wanted to be exactly like my big brother. I didn’t like anything that distinguished us, so I noticed _everything_ that was different. One of those things is that same pattern of freckles on the base of his neck. Imagine my surprise when I saw that same marking on _you.”_ He’s getting agitated again, Zen can tell from how he’s starting to bite off his words. He opens his mouth to say something but Saeran cuts over him. “I wouldn’t even _know_ about any of this if it weren’t for Ri...the stupid Savior, who wanted to know everything and made me check in on you guys regularly. Just pure happenstance that I caught a glimpse of it one day. And then I knew, I _knew_ you were meant for him. Because he’s always gotten the good things. So what’s new this time?” Standing, Saeran shoves the chair back so hard that it topples over. He fists his fingers in his hair and yanks at it, flinching away when Saeyoung reaches out to him. “Don’t. Just don’t.” Turning, he starts to stalk off toward his room but stops just before entering. “If you care, Andy has it too.” Then the door is slammed and Zen’s left to see two of his friends gawking at each other in shock.

“Do you really…?” Saeyoung starts, motioning toward his neck, voice thick with emotion. Yoosung nods and turns, dropping his hand to reveal the pattern of freckles Saeran was referencing. Zen stares at the pale patch of skin, mind still reeling with the new information. They look so inconsequential, dark little dots that should mean nothing. And yet when Saeyoung turns around to reveal a matching mark - an exact replica as far as Zen can tell - the reality of the situation slams into him, hard.

He can't just sit here, nor should he. Zen needs to check and make sure Saeran's okay, but he also should leave these two to their discovery. This definitely qualifies as a private moment he needs to politely remove himself from. His excuse goes unacknowledged and he tries not to read too hard into the sudden change of their expressions; nope, not a place his mind wishes to explore.

Tapping lightly on Saeran's door, Zen calls out his name softly, waiting to enter until he hears the muffled sound of acceptance. As he cracks it open, Zen's surprised to find Saeran lying face down on his bed, head buried in his pillow. He quietly shuts the door behind him and makes his way over to sit next to Saeran, hesitatingly placing a hand on his back to rub small circles. “Do you need to talk about it?” he asks lowly, increasing the pressure of his hand a little when Saeran doesn't object to it.

Saeran doesn’t answer immediately, and Zen lets the silence hang undisturbed, slowly changing the positioning of his hand to work down the sides of Saeran’s spine. The muscles there are tense, which isn’t really a surprise, but he hopes that by the little bit of massage he’s doing, he can help them - and Saeran - relax a little.

The sound of mumbled words barely reaches Zen’s ears, but when he does hear them, he leans over, placing his head next to Saeran’s. “What was that?”

The pillow shifts slightly as Saeran unearths his face, turning it to lay on his cheek. “I asked why you’re doing that.”

Zen pauses in his movements, confused. “Doing what? Talking to you? Rubbing your back?”

“Rubbing my back.” Saeran’s eyes flutter open and he looks up at Zen, and Zen’s heart breaks just the tiniest bit at the raw emotion in them: pain, confusion, sadness all rolled into one. Despite how long he’s known Saeyoung and how he’s come to know Saeran over the past few months, Zen forgets at times the depth of damage done to Saeran. It hurts him every time he sees it affect his friend, and he wishes desperately that he could somehow make it better.

“You’re tense,” Zen says softly, this time taking both of his hands and running his fingers along the muscles, the pressure firm and hopefully soothing. “And you’re obviously stressed. I don’t have any magical words to help you in these situations, but I still want to do what I can.” He shrugs, giving a half-smile to Saeran. “I thought this might help relax you a bit.”

Confusion quickly takes over any other emotion Saeran had been showing, his face lined with it. “But you already spend time with me. The fact that you’re even here is more than anyone…” He cuts himself off abruptly but not before Zen understands what he was going to say. Biting his tongue to keep from commenting, Zen just continues kneading along Saeran’s shoulders. He’ll do this until either his hands are tired or Saeran asks him not to, whichever come first.

He’s not sure how much time passes after this, with Zen massaging and Saeran watching, lips occasionally twitching as though he wants to say something. The muscles start to loosen but there’s still a long way to go when Saeran finally pushes himself up into a sitting position, gazing at Zen curiously. The way those green eyes dart across his face, taking in every little movement Zen does, makes him feel like he’s being hyperanalyzed. And he probably is, honestly; Saeran’s not used to trusting people. Zen’s trying to gain his trust. It makes sense for him to be constantly watching him.

Apparently finding something that satisfies him, Saeran lets out a long sigh and cards his hands through his already mussed hair. “...when I was at Mint Eye, my job mostly consisted of keeping an eye on the RFA and hacking into their systems. But there was another project, a side project, that I worked on. One the leader had a special interest in. Only a few of us had anything to do with it, because she was paranoid about any information getting out. Bet you’ll never guess what it had to do with.”

“Soulmates,” Zen breathes, already curious where this is heading. Why would the leader of a religious cult care to find out more about soulmates?

Saeran nods. “Yeah. She insisted it was a necessity, that she needed to know how to figure out who hers was in order to prove something wrong. She never specified, but I think it had something to do with V.”

Zen feels like his eyes are about to pop out of his head at the double-take he does. “Wait, V!? What would V have to do with that?”

“Fuck,” Saeran curses, slamming a hand into his head. “I didn’t mean to say that.” His breathing picks up suddenly and for a moment Zen wonders if the apparent slip-up was going to be a one-way ticket into an anxiety attack but Saeran seems to manage to ground himself before that happens. “You… weren’t told everything about what happened at Mint Eye. And I’m not sure it’s my place to tell you.”

Zen crosses an arm over his chest and rests a hand on his chin. “I won’t force you to tell me anything,” he says slowly, wondering just what he’s about to ask for. “But if it’s relevant to what you need to talk about, just say it. Don’t worry about my reaction; I can deal with it.”

Again Saeran surveys him closely, obviously trying to determine the validity of his claim. Zen doesn’t hide anything, because he has nothing to hide. He’s never hidden anything from Saeran. Part of the reason he enjoys being around him is because he’s not compelled to put on an act; Saeran accepts him for who he is. He’s not about to change that now.

“Okay, your choice.” Saeran shrugs and continues, “so the leader wanted to determine if V was her soulmate or not. Rika-” Zen’s eyes widened at the name and his hand shook for a moment at his chin, “-didn’t want him to be, but he claimed he was. As I said earlier, there’s no easy way to determine how to track your soulmate. But she insisted. So I dug, and I dug, and I dug. I learned more about soulmates is three months than most historians probably learn over their lives. And that’s… fine, but thinking about it, it just reminds me of her. Things I’d rather forget.” Scooting over to the edge of the bed, Saeran stands and walks over to the wall he and Zen had painted together. It’s of the sky, fluffy clouds spread out over it to try to imitate the outdoors. Saeran had outlined everything and Zen had helped do the painting, but it’s obvious Saeran had gone over it more at a different time. Everything looks sharper, more detailed. He lays a hand on one of the clouds and closes his eyes. “For a while I allowed myself to believe that I’d find someone. I didn’t care who or what type or any of that. I just wanted to know that there was _someone_ out there who would accept me for who I was unconditionally. But I never deserved it.” Fingers slowly trailing down the cloud, a deep frown encompasses his face. “And now I’m not sure I’d even welcome it if I were to find one.”

“Why not? Wouldn’t a soulmate be good? More friends can’t be a bad thing,” Zen manages to say, brain still very focused on the name ‘Rika’ that he’d heard only a few minutes earlier. He’s trying to shove it to the back to deal with later, but it’s a struggle because this has so many implications about what _actually_ happened with her and Mint Eye, not to mention being lied to by his friends, but… he’s here for Saeran. He needs to focus. It takes every ounce of skill he has to even halfway focus on him. “I mean, not that I’m not amazing or anything, but wouldn’t you welcome having more than just me?”

“In theory, it sounds good,” Saeran responds, finally allowing his hand to fall completely back to his side. “But I don’t want someone to like me just because they have to. I don’t deserve anyone’s compassion, anyone’s friendship or love. But if someone is going to be in my life… I want them to _want_ it. I’m tired of being used and then abandoned.” Zen can only see the side of Saeran’s face, but it’s enough to see the pain on it. “Don’t you want someone to love you for more than your beauty?”

“Are you calling me beautiful?” He couldn’t resist. He had to tease on that. Even after the glare that Saeran opens his eyes to specifically cast at him, the opportunity had been too good to pass up. “Yes, I see your point. Truthfully, I don’t really know what to make of this yet. Soulmates had always sounded romantic to me, but when you put it that way…” They sound terrible. Like being forced to love someone without any real reason why. Because fate decided you should be together? That doesn’t sound romantic to Zen.

Saeran taps a finger against his sweatpants and sighs. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t be letting my bitterness ruin something you’d like.” He turns to face Zen, moving one hand up to rest on his other bicep. “But I have a question for you, if you don’t mind…”

“Oh, sure. Shoot, man. Anything. If I can, I’ll answer.” Zen nods, curious as to what Saeran would want to ask him after this discussion. There’s some fidgeting and kicking of the ground; _he’s nervous for some reason,_ Zen muses, eyes narrowing slightly in intrigue. _What could he be so nervous to ask?_

Clearing his throat, Saeran starts, “so, um. When I was explaining things out… there…” He gestures vaguely in the general direction of the kitchen, “you at one point grabbed your arm and looked like you were about to pass out. I was curious as to why?”

Zen blinks at him a moment and then grabs the bottom of his shirt, tugging it over his head. “It’s easier to show you, and the sleeves on this wouldn’t allow me to,” he says as Saeran opens his mouth, no doubt to sass him about it. Crooking his finger at him, Zen angles himself so that his right upper arm is visible. As Saeran approaches, Zen places a few fingers along the ridges of the scar on his arm. “You mentioned something about sharing injuries or scars, and I immediately thought of this. It just… cropped up five years ago. Felt like I was getting stung over and over, and obviously never went away. Which is odd, for me. I heal so quickly, you know. But it stuck, and it’s still here. Could it be a soulmate...thing?” When he’s met with silence, he looks up to see Saeran staring at the scar with a horrified expression. “Saeran, are you okay?” he asks, reaching his hand up to grasp his shoulder.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” Saeran growls suddenly, batting his arm away aggressively and backing up, a look of feral fear on his face. Zen stands, eyebrows dipped and takes a step forward, only to have Saeran back up even more. “Get out.”

“Saeran, what’s wrong?” Zen asks, concerned and a little fearful himself. Did the scar cause some sort of flashback? “What can I do to help?”

Saeran bares his teeth at him, arms out defensively in front of him. “Get. Out. Get out of my room. Get out, get out get out GET OUT!”

Zen flinches as Saeran yells, retreating with his hands held up in surrender, shirt dangling from one. “Okay, chill, dude, I’m leaving…” He backs out of the room and pauses in the hallway, fingers twitching in the air in confusion. Saeran storms forward and slams the door, his face twisted into a snarl.

“Zen! What happened!?” Saeyoung yelps from next to him, and Zen’s aware of Yoosung’s presence on his other side. Lowering his hands, he shrugs, staring at the door in confusion.

“He asked about my arm and I showed him my scar… and then he kicked me out.” Zen scratches his forehead, not looking at either of them and slipping his shirt back on. “I… I’m going to go, like he said. I’m just. I’m going to go. Bye, guys.” Without giving either of them much of a chance to respond, he turns and books it to the exit, running to his motorcycle once outside.

Maybe it was just too much today. Maybe Saeran was overwhelmed? Although why the sight of the scar would have triggered him is something Zen can’t quite puzzle out. It’s on his mind as he zooms along the freeway, for once not feeling calmed by the wind rushing through his hair. There was simply no reason he could fathom as to what would have caused Saeran to react like that. He’s seen Saeran have PTSD episodes before, and he’s seem him break down from anxiety in a variety of ways, but this didn’t quite seem like either of those. But it is possible it’s just something Zen’s never had to deal with before…

He’ll just have to wait it out, let Saeran have some time. Give him a few days and then text him, check into make sure everything’s okay. As Zen turns a corner to head toward his apartment, he makes the decision that that will be the best course of action.

  
  
  


 

_Zen [10:01] - Good morning! Hope you slept well_

_Zen [10:05] - It’s been a few days since we talked, are you feeling better?_

_Zen [11:37] - Did I do something wrong? Just tell me if I did, I'd like to fix it_

_Zen [14:02] - I'll always be here if you need anyone. Please remember that._

  
  


 

 

Zen waits until the morning after his last show to try to call. Once he’s gone through his morning skincare routine, he sits and stares at his phone, debating the merits of calling Saeran. He still hasn’t responded to any texts, and the limited presence he’d maintained on tripter prior to this has ceased to exist; it’s like he’s burying himself in the sand. But from what? Zen knows he’s at least partially at fault for whatever happened, but until he knows exactly _what_ happened, he has no idea how to fix it. He doesn’t want to give up on Saeran, the guy’s on the fast track to becoming his best friend. Zen’s never felt so comfortable around anyone before, even if Saeran is taking longer to warm up to him. He doesn’t want to lose him.

Taking a deep breath, Zen presses his number and puts the phone to his ear, waiting. His face falls when it goes straight to voicemail.

“Saeran, this is Zen. Just checking in to see if you’re okay. Can you let me know what’s going on? I’m worried about you, dude. Talk to you later, I hope.” He hangs up and stands, feeling the distinct need to have a smoke to calm his quickly fraying nerves.

Saeran never calls back.

  
  
  


 

It’s been a month, and Zen’s finally starting rehearsals for a new role. As usual, he throws himself completely into his practices, not leaving himself much time for personal endeavors. He prefers it this way, especially now when he’s trying to mute the pain he feels from apparently losing Saeran. Losing himself in his character is the only thing that can keep his mind off of it and so he does it as much as possible, dreading the hours he lies in bed trying to sleep while images and thoughts dance through his mind, what ifs and maybes and if onlys. They’re both sugar-coated and venomous, giving him hope then stealing it away.

He feels like this is an abnormal reaction to losing a new friend. Shouldn’t he have moved on by now? When did he become so… attached to him? If he didn’t know any better, Zen would think that maybe the emotions invoked by Saeran were less about friendship and more about lo…

No. Zen shuts down that line of thought almost as fast as it appears. There’s no way that’s what had happened, he’s far too in tune with himself and his feelings to ever fall for someone without realizing it. Especially a guy. He’s not… he’s not gay, right? No, he can’t be; he’s very attracted to women.

Yet he can’t deny that there are some men he finds attractive too. He’s never pursued any of it but he’d be lying to himself if he tried to say that he hadn’t been tempted in the past when he’d been approached by some. None of them caught his eye enough for him to ever consider the possibility that it was more than just an acknowledgment of aesthetics.

But Saeran, though...

Zen rolls over, tugging his blanket up his chest and picturing him in his mind. He’s wondered for so long if those striking green eyes were from contacts or natural, but never brought himself to ask. They’re beautiful and entrancing and he’s found himself drawn into them like a moth to the flame, except he always manages to escape before they consume him. The light dusting of freckles along the bridge of his nose and along his cheekbones that you have to be close to see, that somehow enhance his beauty even while being barely visible. His bleached hair, the tips still a light red, something Zen had thought was originally from a bad dye job but by now he’s figured must be on purpose. Saeran has no obvious desire to return to having the flaming hair of his brother, and Zen finds that he likes the white color on him. It’s an unexpected contrast, a sharp statement that still seems to flow well with the rest of him. He finds himself wondering if it’s still soft or if the constant bleaching has damaged it to the point of being brittle? One day Zen hopes to be able to find out, to rub a few strands between his fingers before they trail down the side of Saeran’s face, over the freckles and across the cheek, to drag across the lips that look so inviting and...

No. Nope. Absolutely not. Zen groans and buries his face in his pillow. He refuses to think on this any more tonight.

  
  


 

 

It’s impossible to reach Saeyoung. It was hard to before, but after the advent of Yoosung’s matching soulmark, the two of them plus Andy have all but dropped off the map. Inconvenient, since Zen was really hoping to talk to him about how Saeran’s doing. He’s accepted his fate as being written out of his life at this point, two months later without any calls or texts, but he still wants to know that he’s okay. After another failed attempt at reaching out to Saeyoung, Zen sighs and sends Saeran the first text he’s sent in weeks.

_Zen [18:15] - I know it’s been a while and it’s obvious you don’t want anything to do with me anymore. I’ll leave you alone, but… know that I’m always here for you, okay? No matter what happens, no matter how long I wait… I’ll always be here._

He slips his phone in his pocket and goes for a run to work off his nerves.

  


 

 

The illness strikes hard and fast, working its way through the cast and crew like a tornado, leaving everyone devastated in its path. Even Zen gets it, but the effects are severely lessened for him with his killer immune system. He's over it in a matter of days with no lasting signs, while everyone else is out for weeks. The show is cancelled and his agency tells him it'll likely be awhile before another is attempted. Everyone wants to make sure it doesn't happen again, for good reason.

Zen just hopes he can wrangle up a fair amount of photo shoots between now and then to stay afloat.

One day, a couple of weeks after his sudden unemployment, Zen finds himself in his secret spot, staring out over the city. The sickness hadn't stopped with those at the theatre; it'd spread like wildfire throughout the crowded streets of Seoul but luckily a way to inoculate against it had also been discovered fairly quickly. While it didn't necessarily keep a person from getting it, from what Zen gathered, it set them up to respond more like he had. Yet he knows as he watches the sunlight glinting off of buildings that many of the city's inhabitants are still ill.

Taking a drag of his cigarette, he turns his head in curiosity as he hears the sound of a car on the road just beyond the trees. Not many people drive this way, which probably contributes to how peaceful and abandoned it always is when he's here. What catches his interest more is that while he heard the vehicle approaching, he doesn't hear it leave.

It’s not much longer before he hears voices, familiar ones, and then sees a group of three adults and two children sauntering in his direction. Frowning, he stands up from the wooden rail he was leaning against and watches them approach, Saeyoung waving cheerily at him. “Heya, Zen!”

“Saeyoung, Yoosung, Andy,” he greets, confused. He’s never known them to come here before and he hasn’t disclosed of its location to anyone other than the trust fund jerk and… oh, right. He _had_ brought Andy here once, though to be honest he’d figured they’d forgotten by now. Andy isn’t known for having the best memory and that day had been a royal mess for both of them. He’s about to ask why they’re here when he’s distracted by the kids suddenly bolting at him, screeching his name and how much they’ve missed him. Zen laughs as Tai starts rattling off new facts he’s learned about space while Li tries to climb his leg. He sets his cigarette in his portable ashtray and she giggles happily when he picks her up, her fingers immediately going to play with his hair. He really should see them more often. They’re good kids.

A dot of white appears in the corner of his eye and Zen turns his head to see Saeran step out of the trees as well, hands shoved in the pockets of his leather jacket and staring at the ground. Zen blinks, stunned; is he really here? It’s been so long since he’s seen Saeran, it almost feels like a dream. He looks like he’s lost some weight and his face is paler than Zen remembers it being, causing his concern to spike. What happened to him?

“Tai, Li! Let’s get going on our walk!” Andy’s voice pulls his attention away from the newcomer for a moment and he puts a loudly protesting Li back on the ground.

“Go to your mother,” he urges, giving her a quick hug and peck on the forehead. “I’ll swing by later this week to play with you, okay?” The promise must mollify her, for she shakes her head with a large grin and bounds off after her brother, waving once more before they all disappear into the other side of the trees.

When he turns back it’s to see Saeran standing near him, watching him warily. Zen wants to hug him, to tell him how glad he is to see him but he knows he has to temper his enthusiasm, especially after so long. Centering himself and taking a calming breath, his gives Saeran a soft, welcoming smile. “Hey, Saeran. How've you been?”

Saeran shrugs and kicks at the dirt. “I’m sorry.” His voice is so quiet Zen barely hears it.

Zen’s brows dip in confusion. “Why? You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“That’s a lie. I didn’t know you were a liar,” Saeran deadpans and Zen snorts, a small chuckle escaping him. He glances back over at the city for a moment, picking up tapping his cigarette so that the ashes fell into the ashtray. He takes another drag. When he looks at Saeran again, he finds him staring out at the scene before them, shoulders visibly more relaxed than before. Good. Maybe it won’t be hard to fall back into their friendly camaraderie.

“I’ve been… a bad friend,” Saeran says, frowning. He pulls out a hand and rests it on the wood, fingers drumming against it quietly. “I shouldn’t have shut you out like that but I didn’t know what else to do. I know you always say we can talk, but… words don’t come easy to me.”

Zen nods; this is something he knows about Saeran. When he speaks he always sounds clear and intelligent, but branch off into anything not dictated by facts and he has a much harder time putting his thoughts into words. Often he’ll end up not talking at all if that happens, although he’d been starting to get a little better before falling out of contact. The sentences may have been more choppy, the words halting and unsure, but Zen was able to help Saeran express himself better.

Running a hand through his hair, Saeran sighs and looks over at Zen, his other hand reaching up to unzip his jacket, revealing a plain red shirt underneath. “I owe you an explanation for why I’ve behaved the way I have. That’s why I’m here. The scar on your shoulder… it is a soulmark. You’re right. That’s why it never healed.” Narrowing his eyes, Saeran flips so that his right side is facing Zen. “And this is why I did what I did.” Shrugging a shoulder so that the sleeve falls down to his elbow, Saeran reveals the entire upper portion of his arm to Zen. There, in bold black ink, is a tattoo matching Zen’s scar.

Zen’s hand comes up to cover his mouth as he lets out a gasp, eyes wide. Dropping the cigarette back into the ashtray, he reaches out slowly, running the very tips of his fingers over the curved lines in pure disbelief. He’s spent so long staring at the scar, trying to determine if it looked like anything or if it was just a completely random pattern but seeing it like this, he can make out an eye. “Mint Eye,” he breathes, hand stuttering as it crosses the eyelashes. It’s almost blindingly obvious like this; how did none of them realize what it was once the logo invaded their lives?

Nodding, Saeran’s eyes watch as Zen traces each line, each curve, each little swirl. “I got it when I turned 18 to prove my loyalty. Stupid, a stupid decision on my part,” he says in a voice full of self-disgust. His tone softens and sounds guilty when he continues, causing Zen’s eyes to flicker over to his. “Especially now that I know what it did to you.”

Zen shakes his head. “It’s okay, Saeran. I was upset at the time but it’s never hindered me or anything. It’s just become a part of who I am. I don’t even think about it much anymore.” Withdrawing his hand, he lets it hang limply at his side. He’d figured by now that it was for sure a soulmark, but he would never have guess in a million years that the person it stems from is Saeran. Which means… “We’re soulmates…”

Biting his lip, Saeran nods, the motion jerky. “And I wasn't ready for that,” he whispers, looking back at the ground. “So I hid. Selfishly. I dumped two major things on you that day and then shut you out. See? Terrible friend.”

The world hasn't quite been turned upside down for Zen, but it does have a major tilt and he grabs onto the railing with both hands, knocking his ashtray off. He feel like if he isn't holding onto something he knows won't change he'll slide until he falls off the edge of the earth. His distress must be evident, because Saeran makes a noise of concern and hesitatingly places a hand on Zen's forearm, looking up at him with those beautiful green eyes. Zen's heart thumps wildly as he gazes into them. He doesn't know what to say. He doesn't know what to do.

“I was wrong about one thing, though,” Saeran says, not whispering any more but still quietly. “I… don't mind have a soulmate if it's you. You've… you've already done so much for me, proven how much you care and I…” He swallows, looking away. “You deserve better than me, better than what I can give you.”

Zen snaps out of his stupor and gently grabs Saeran's chin, tilting his face back to him. “Did I not make it clear enough before that I like you for who you are? Whether or not we're soulmates, I want you in my life.” Realizing what he's doing, he drops his hand quickly. That's… is that okay? “But what kind are we?” He has to know. He has to know what this is, what will be between them. What does he want? Zen's not sure. On one hand, he's always assumed their platonic friendship but now… he's forced to face the emotions he's been ignoring. Is there a possibility of more? Does he want more? Does _Saeran_ want more?

Chuckling humorlessly, Saeran shrugs. “Hell if I know. There's nothing anywhere detailing how to tell romantic from platonic, so… I guess… we have to…” He trails off, letting out a frustrated exhale.

“We have to figure that out on our own,” Zen finishes, mind reeling. He scratches his head, thinking. “Do you… have interest in being more?”

Saeran flushes at the question and stares at the ground, but he nods after a second. Zen's heart soars, providing him with his own answer. He reaches out and slowly, carefully threads his fingers through Saeran's, smiling reassuringly at him when he looks up in surprise.

“I don't know anything about how this stuff works…” Saeran says, embarrassed.

“This is new to me too. Never had a prince before.” Zen winks, laughing when Saeran turns an even deeper shade of red and starts grumbling at the nickname. “But we’ll take it slow, nothing too fast. Just to see how it feels, okay?” He tugs Saeran's hand up to his lips and presses a soft kiss to the back of it, never breaking eye contact.

Saeran bites his lip again, a smile forming on his face. “I'd like that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Did you like it? Did you love it? Did you... *gasp* hate it? Let me know! I'm always open for reviews, comments and helpful criticism.  
> I'm here to grow. :)
> 
> You can also find me on Tumblr as [cutiesaeran](http://cutiesaeran.tumblr.com/) or twitter [@MysticHawke](https://twitter.com/MysticHawke/)!


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